Blogging Gold!!

Finally.....The news story of my dreams hit the headlines today when an Orangutan escaped from its cage and went on the rampage at a Taiwanese zoo. The beast pushed open its cage door and then got into a nearby restaurant where it terrified diners by overturning tables and motorbikes. Why the fuck there were motorbikes in a restaurant at the zoo I can not imagine, but story said there were so there must have been. I hope to fuck that someone there had a video camera and will be watching the news like a hawk tonight.

Zookeepers finally managed to subdue the monster with a tranquilizer gun and then scooped it up with a small bulldozer and put it back in its cage. Luckily this happened in Taiwan, a place where it is easy to make the distinction between an Orangutan and the general population. Had this happened here in LA or, I dunno, Glasgow for example, the task would probably have been more complicated and would possibly have resulted in a number of cases of mistaken identity before the real Orangutan was caught.

Things are not going well for this particular zoo of late. It was at the same zoo that six months ago, a 440 lb crocodile bit the forearm off a vet. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Luckily for the vet they managed to re-attach it with a a marathon seven hour surgery.

Obviously, this is a sign. The animals are mad and are starting to revolt. I'm not a huge fan of zoo's but understand the role they play in conservation and that in order to stay in the conservation business, they need to open their doors to a public that is all too willing to pay good money to go and watch elephants take a shit or monkeys playing with their dicks (I am of course, speaking for myself here.) But it is only a matter of time before something terrible happens.

It is to be expected in a place like Taiwan, don't ask me why or to back any of this up with facts because I won't (can't) but here in civilized countries where we take so much for granted, it is probably safe to say that not unlike national security pre 9/11, we have become complacent with regards to zoo animals and the potential for an attack. Before we know it, San Diego zoo could be a bloodbath.

I want to blame Steve Irwin. For all I know since his death there may well have been a rise in the number of zoo escapes, I haven't researched it but I wouldn't be surprised to find that it is true.

Better Dressed Than Some Humans
An Orangutan Readies Itself For Escape

Light Up The Sky With SubStandard Fireworks.....

Yes, its that time of year again. The countdown has begun. There is only 44 days until July 4th and in this particular neighbourhood, the festivities have already started. Many of the people around these parts have begun to celebrate their patriotism by driving down to Tijuana and coming home with large supplies of extremely loud (and illegal) fireworks. Once home, these weak willed individuals, dizzy with excitement and filled with almost retard like fascination can hardly wait until the 4th to light the blue touch paper, so many of them don't wait at all. A couple of Tecate's and they are out into the street to celebrate. Often times, it isn't even dark. What's the fuckin point?

Every year it's the same thing 8 weeks in summer and 8 weeks at Christmas, these fuckin idiots spend a small fortune on M-80's and huge fuck off rockets that make window rattling bangs. I don't get it. What is the fuckin attraction of an extremely loud bang to a grown man?

That's right. I said "grown man", 'cause these are not kids doing this. A couple of years ago, there was almost an unpleasant (for him not me) incident with the slap headed fucker who lives across the street. I remember the incident well, apparently he does too because he has avoided eye contact with me ever since. The time was approximately 2am. Tired of his nightly pyrotechnic obsession, I decided to approach him with a polite request to fuck off. The conversation went something like this:

EW: Excuse me mate. You do know what time it is right?
Slap Head: What?
EW: It's 2 in the morning mate.
SH: So?
EW: So I'm asking you to stop setting those fuckin fireworks off. Yer waking my kid up.
SH: It's the 4th of July. What's the matter? Aren't you American?
EW: It's not the 4th of July, it's the 28th of June you stupid cunt. 4th of July is next week and just to clarify, no I'm not American. Is that a problem for you?
SH: Well....I won't be here next week, so I'm celebrating now. What are you anyway, a fuckin Aussie or something?
EW: Listen twat. I'm not Australian I'm fuckin English and if you don't stop setting those fuckers off I will shove one up yer arse and light the fucker.
SH: (hestitates)I've only got one left anyway.
EW: Well save it for tomorrow or it will be the last one you ever have. And I'd better not see you setting any off on the 4th either pal 'cause you just told me you wouldn't be here so if I see so much as a fuckin sparkler in your hand you are well fucked. Do you understand?
SH: You can't threaten me asshole.
EW: Not fuckin threatening you, I'm promising you.....

I could be wrong, but ever since then he has behaved himself. Unfortunately, word does not seem to have reached the rest of the zip code. It's not just here. My mum tells me that back in the worlds greatest country, the same problem exists for the few weeks preceding bommie neet.
It never used to be that way. Yeah, kids would tie bangers to a cats tail or throw one in the hood of some poor spastics parka, push one through the letterbox of the old lad that reeks of piss, and cruel pranks they may be but they were not disturbing my sleep at the time so it didn't really bother me.

Why is it that people are so fuckin obsessed with fireworks. Is the telly really that shite? I know that most of these people are sad twats who don't have wives or girlfriends on which to take out their frustrations, but that is why there is Ultimate Fighting and NASCAR. What is so appealing about shattering everybody else's peace and quiet?

Simple Pleasures

Summerrrrtiiiiime and the livin' is easyyyyyy....

There is something about this picture that makes me miss my people. When I say "my people" I mean Brits, Northerners, normal folk. The type of people who get my humour. The type of people who take a plate covered in a filthy tea towel to the chippy for their tea. People to whom I don't have to repeat myself 5 times before giving up and rephrasing myself with words that they understand or slow enough that they get what I am trying to say. I still have my accent, sometimes more than others but as a necessity for work purposes, enunciate better and pronounce my "R's". When I have been drinking or after a recent conversation with a fellow Brit, it can be hard for simple Yanks to follow me.

Back to the picture though, I found it on a hometown website, uploaded by a member of the lady's family and I swear, had I simply come across this picture, with no knowledge of where it was found, I would say that without a shadow of a doubt, this auld lass was from my part of the world. I'm not making fun of her, she reminds me of my Grandma. Here she is, willing to be photographed looking completely unglamourous, curlers in, feet up in her ratty old slippers with holes in and smoking a ciggie in her back yard whilst catching a few precious rays of sunshine. For all we know, it could be a man in drag.

I don't mean to offend any non Brits with this post. Sometimes you just need to be around your own for a week or two until you get sick of the misery and the moaning and the long faces. This picture just aroused something in me (not sexually you sick bastards) and made me miss my family.

D.C. Warmington didn't help with his beautifully written post about his lawnmower either. It made me long for the English summer. Beer gardens, kebabs and the smell of curry carried like a feather on the evening breeze.

Fuck the airlines and their outrageous fares......

Kodak Moments

A milestone was passed in the Waring household today. The child lost her first baby tooth. Luckily, I was at work and didn't have to deal with the frantic screaming and wailing that followed the momentous event. Mrs. Waring did the honours. By the time I got home, things had settled down and the hysteria had been replaced by excitement at the prospect of a visit from the tooth fairy. There was some debate about what monetary value the tooth fairy places on the first tooth and naturally, being a six year old who still believes in Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny, (despite the influence of some smart arse friends), she was full of questions about how and why the tooth fairy does what she does. For a man such as myself who delights in misinforming the uninformed, (you get your kicks when you can), it is like a blank canvas to Salvador Dali.

It's not just me. Mrs. W does her fair share to confuse the issues too. In an effort to persuade the kid not to mess with the tooth after it had been placed under her pillow (makes it easier to find - smart see), she tried to compare it to finding a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest and once you put it back into its nest, not touching it again because the mummy bird will abandon it (?). This didn't make much sense to me either and I suspected (correctly) that she had got into the scotch again. The child seemed very confused, so I left it at that. To try and explain would lead down roads best not traveled so I simply said that mummy was being silly and changed the subject.

I put her to bed and put the tooth under the pillow, read her a story and kissed her goodnight and she asked "how will the tooth fairy get the tooth out if my head is on the pillow?" Dammit! A logical question! Caught on the hop, all I could say was "Its magic, no one knows, go to sleep," I turned out the light and left.

A few minutes ago, the wife came out to me. The kid had called her into the room and expressed concern that she had just been picking her nose and was worried that now the tooth fairy wouldn't show up. She reassured her that it was okay and left. The wimp! I would have told her to stick that under there as well because bogeys automatically double the value of the tooth. I can just see the concerned look on the Kindergarten teachers face as the story was told to the class tomorrow...... But I'm a sick cunt.

Yet Another Post About Cack

Whilst lunching at my favourite inexpensive Mexican hole the other day (and no, that is not a euphemism for going down on a cheap hooker,) I couldn't help but notice the extraordinary length of time one elderly gent spent in the toilet. It's a small restaurant and only has one toilet that serves both men and women, so if someone goes in there for any length of time, a line will soon form, especially during busy periods. Luckily, the place was quite empty and only myself, this old lad, his wife and another couple were there. I usually avoid this particular toilet as it is quite unsavoury and not at all appetizing (although there has been many a time when I have had no choice but to use it), while I think this is generally a good policy it has led to several "photo finishes" upon my return to the relative sterility of the work bogs. But that is another post entirely.

Anyway, this old lad went to the bog just as I was starting to eat my bowl of Posole. They are big bowls of steaming hot soup and usually take me a good 20-25 minutes to finish. I was almost done with it before I realized that the old man had not returned, so he must have been gone at least 15 minutes. I looked over at his wife who was reading a book, seemingly unconcerned by his extended absence. She must be used to it I thought. Another 5 minutes passed by and still no sign of the old geezer, I was getting concerned. How horrible would it be if he had died in there?

I had done a post a couple of months ago about a bloke who died on a bookies bog (still no word on the cause of death in that one) and so I found this situation naturally enthralling and needless to say would have to stick around past the end of my lunch time to find out. After a few more minutes, his wife got up and went to look for him. I was sure she would return screaming for help and readied myself with camera phone, just in case. Sadly Happily, a few moments later they both returned, him red faced and sweating, her shaking her head.

What I don't understand is how can some people possibly take so long in the bog? I'm not going to suggest that he was rubbing one out, he didn't seem the sort, but why the fuck did he go in there if he wasn't ready? I know some people who take like 10 minutes to have a shit. I'm in and out in under two minutes unless it's one of the sticky variety that takes forever to wipe clean. I also know people who can go a day or two without shitting when I'm in there 3 times a day guaranteed. You can put the rent money on it. It's a dead cert.

Whatever you do in the sanctity of your own shithouse is your business (Boom, Boom!) and who am I or anyone else for that matter to question it. But please, when in public places, especially if it's a one stall mexican shithole that serves food of a highly dubious quality, don't hog the bog cause you can be sure there will be someone who really needs to use it more than you do. Play the white man and wait until you are ready.

You Are My Sunshine

Mrs. Waring is in a good mood this morning. She has seemed a little tense the last couple of days, as if anticipating something unpleasant. I've been sick, tired and cranky which probably hasn't helped the atmosphere around here but things are on the up. She seems even more relieved than I am that the unthinkable did not happen, as it well might have done, this morning. My beloved Wigan Athletic avoided relegation from the Premiership, instead sending Sheffield Utd down by beating them 2-1.
She has good cause, I would have been impossible to live with for the foreseeable future had they lost. Ideally, West Fucking Ham would have been beaten by Man Utd and they would have gone down instead. Justice was not however fully served and the Blades were the unlucky ones. Too bad for them. West Fucking Ham will get what they deserve eventually.

On a less important note, today is of course Mothers Day. The one day of the year when wife beaters, misogynists and miserable husbands everywhere buy some cheap chocolates and a card that says "I may be an unloving cunt but I am obligated to buy a card that says I do in fact love you and am grateful for all the chips you make me(expires at midnight)." It's also the day when kids present their mum's with the card made with macaroni glued in the shape of a heart that they spent all day making in school last week and have been trying to hide ever since. It's sooooo cute!

Mrs.W seems content with her chocolates and cards and has gone back to bed, the excitement having tired her out.......did I mention that Wigan won?

2Pacalypse Now

The Arsonists Anonymous field trip to the zoo ended prematurely

After burning over 800 acres of "chaparral", the Griffith Park fire is largely contained. No animals at the LA Zoo were hurt, no structures were damaged and no lives lost. Much of one of LA's areas of natural beauty however is gone, for a year or two until it grows back. The newly renovated Griffith Observatory was untouched and the precious Hollywood sign remains. Something tells me that if it were forced into a choice between saving rare and exotic animals or the famous sign, the City of LA would be out shopping for Elephants today. There were evacuations, just in case, although none mandatory and probably more for the sake of the TV news crews than anyone else. Don't misunderstand me, I'm sad about it all, the hillside looks horrible today and the landscape behind the Observatory just looks....well, weird. Where I am used to seeing green and brown, now all I see is grey and black. Kind of like my blog.

There are of course many tales and news reports about the fire, but one in particular caught my eye in the LA Times, or rather one sentence:

"Gabriella Parra, 40, and her son, Tupac Otero, 3, fled their Richland Avenue apartment about 8 p.m. while her husband stayed behind."

Tupac? Fuckin' Tupac? Who in the name of G.M.Chrysler would call their kid Tupac? What, Biggie Otero didn't quite have the same ring? Afraid the other kids might tease if you called him Snoop? Ol' Dirty Bastard just didn't do it for you? Come on people, have some decorum. Besides, the kid is 3 years old, meaning he was born in 2003 at the earliest. Tupac was offed back in 1996. I could almost understand if you were the worlds biggest Tupac fan and your kid just happened to be born on the day Tupac died, then and only then you might consider, whilst in a state of epidural induced bliss calling the little angel Tupac but only because you would certainly change your mind later when you came around. But to actually do it. That is some keerrraaayzzeee shit you be smokin' sista.

Now I know that according to some people Tupac is considered the Worlds greatest ever rapper. I don't know much about rap but if he is better than the bloke out of Cameo then he gets my vote too. Tupac was obviously idolized by millions, at least 75 million if you go by record sales, so it's feasible that somebody, somewhere is going to be daft enough to name their kid after him.

In a town like LA, crazy kid names are the norm but it isn't just here. I have friends back in the UK who are calling their kids after all sorts of poor role models. My cousin named his little boy Liam, after Liam Gallagher, the nob head. I know people with girls called Britney, Phoebe, Courtney. If people are intent on naming their kids after TV stars and pop singers, where are the Hilda's or the Vera's? The Norman's or the Englebert's? What happened to keeping family names going in memory of loved ones? ....shit, look at the time. I have put Galaxy Sparkle to bed, she gets cranky if it gets too late.